


D.W.A.R.F.s

by lemonypond



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: D.W.A.R.F.s, Drunkenness, F/M, Fluff, SHIELD Academy, The Boiler Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-06
Updated: 2014-02-06
Packaged: 2018-01-11 10:41:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1172087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemonypond/pseuds/lemonypond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>FitzSimmons celebrates their first D.W.A.R.F prototypes with some drinking in the Boiler Room. The details get a little fuzzy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	D.W.A.R.F.s

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a line from my Pushing Daisies/Fitzsimmons story.

The bass was blasting as Fitz and Simmons stepped into the Boiler Room. They spent the last month working on their own special project: seven automated drones that could be used for a myriad of field tasks. They were all Fitz’s idea, Simmons was just his sounding board. Fitz finished constructing his first prototypes, finally transferring his ideas from paper and hologram to actual physical machines. The data collection from each drone was still primitive at this point, Fitz and Simmons had decided to save the larger sized data drives for the later models.  Each individual drone had been successful in testing earlier in the evening and they had decided to take the rest of the night off to celebrate. Walking down the stairs they spotted an open booth a few meters away from the bar. 

“I’ll get the first round,” Fitz said loudly into Simmons’ ear so that she could hear him over the music. She sat down at the table and scanned the room. She had met or at least learned the names of many of her peers, but she preferred the company of Leo Fitz. They were from the same part of the world and they were both the youngest entrants into the Academy.  Fitz resisted her company at first, but when she cornered him in the lab after everyone else left, he confessed that it was just because he thought she just pitied him. Once she called him out on that, he let his guard down.  They had been inseparable ever since. 

“A rum and coke for the lady,” Fitz said as he slid into the booth. “And an old fashioned for the greatest engineer in the history of S.H.I.E.L.D.” 

She scoffed at him. “I’m just _the lady_?” 

“It’s an expression Simmons! You know you’re more than that,” he grinned. “Cheers!” 

“Cheers!” They both took a big drink and leaned back against the circular booth. “That was so thrilling! Every drone was able to analyze what we had in the room!” Simmons took another large drink. 

“It was all really basic, but yeah, it feels good,” Fitz answered, feeling quite proud. “I’ll start tinkering more with the wireless components tomo-“ 

“Fitz! Shut up!” Simmons cut him off. “We’ll worry about that tomorrow!” She finished her drink and sat it on the table. “Drink! Cel-e-brate!” she continued, punching him in the arm. “Next one’s on me! Same thing?” 

Fitz laughed.  She was right. They were here to celebrate. “Surprise me!” 

She guffawed. “Oh ho ho! You’ll regret those words Dr. Fitz!” she shouted back as she hopped backwards towards the bar.

 

He looked at her and he just laughed and shook his head.  She had completely saved him. He was feeling pretty miserable his first couple of months at the Academy.  Then one late night he was working on something in the lab, cursing at his blueprint, and she walked over and suggested a fix that should have been obvious to him. Then the next week, she did it again, fixing his problem with the circuitry on one of his thermo-electric projects. He’d always been courteous and thankful, but he thought she was just doing him a kindness. The third week, she helped him again, but then she called him out on his weirdness. They’d worked together, studied together, and hung out together ever since.  People began calling them FitzSimmons. He finished his drink as she walked back carrying two glasses in one hand. She had a devilish grin on her face. She was hiding whatever they were about to drink behind her back.

“What have you done, Simmons?”  He asked, smiling; her grin was infectious. 

“Ta-daaaah!” she presented a bottle of sixteen year old Lagavulin single malt Scotch whisky. 

“No. Way.” Fitz was in shock. “They had this here?” 

“It certainly looks that way,” she said. “The bartender owed me for helping him with his mass spec problem, so it’s on the house. Scoot over!” She then forced him to slide over in the booth. She poured out two glasses, then handed him one. “To FitzSimmons!” 

Fitz laughed. “To Fitzsimmons!” They clinked their glasses together and took a long drink.  Simmons actually shot it back, with only a mild grimace afterword. Not to be outdone, Fitz took a second drink and finished off the glass. “I’m impressed, Simmons!” 

“Well, I am very impressive,” she replied as she poured another round. “I mean who else enters the Academy at eighteen?” 

“Ah, I do believe that would be me, Dr. Simmons,” Fitz interjected, pouring them out another round. 

“Oh, of course, which would also make _you_ impressive as well.” 

This time they took the time to enjoy their whisky properly. They talked about home, about how it was always so sunny in America and wondered aloud why no one knew how to make a proper cuppa. 

“Oh my God!” Simmons exclaimed excitedly. “I saw a girl use…” she paused for dramatic effect, arching her eyebrows “the _microwave.”_

Fitz mirrored her seriousness. “NO. That’s madness.” 

Nodding vigorously in agreement, Simmons continued. “I pitied her.” 

They were now on drink number four of the hour. Their faces felt flushed. They were smiling. “Sometimes I can’t believe we’re actually here,” Fitz began. “At the Academy. It’s just madness. I’m just a boy from Scotland!” 

Simmons nodded. “Just a boy? Oh please Fitz you’re the smartest _man_ in this whole place.” She scanned the crowded room. “Ah there. Over by the pool table. You see Malcolm?” 

Fitz tried to follow the line from her hand to the bearded man holding the pool cue, his brain and his eyes had a slight lag. “yup.” 

“Malcolm is twenty five years old. It took him three months to finish his holographic engineering project last semester, with help from whom?” 

“From me.” 

“And how long did it take you to finish?” Simmons asked, a serious look on her face.

“Two and a half days.” Fitz answered. 

“I rest my case. Smartest man in the Academy, sitting right here, everybody!”  She shouted, gesturing out to the rest of the room. 

She giggled, she couldn’t help herself. They hadn’t eaten all day. Fitz, looking at his best friend, couldn’t help but laugh either. “Okay okay! Point made!”  He poured their next drinks. They spent this next round spotting their colleagues and classmates and trying to remember their names and interesting facts about them. When they didn’t know anything about someone, they made something up. They were laughing so hard their faces and stomachs ached. They were beginning to have difficulty with names being pronounced correctly. 

“That’s Sammmmm Thworpwaithensch,” Fitz spoke, eyes glassy. “Blimey he’s a handsome bloke. No wonder you fancy him.” 

Simmons nearly choked on her whisky. “No. Nonononooo,” she began, sitting her drink down, wiping her mouth with her hand. “Sam Twickensphraitch has one ear lower than the other and his nose hair is too long. Seriously!” she pointed. “Look!” 

Fitz strained to look but the lag from his brain to his eyes had increased in length. “You’re right, Jemma. But that doesn’t mean you still don’t fancy him.” 

“Please Fitz, the boy can barely do spectroscopy without cocking up the results. I have _much_ higher standards than Somes Thisckingspring.” Her eyes blinked slowly, trying to keep Fitz in view. “I have a great idea!” she said as she reached for her bag.  She pulled out a quarter from her wallet. 

Fitz looked at her, confused. “NO. Simmons. No. You’re going to lose,” he began, sitting up taller in his seat; he’d somehow slid almost halfway down the cushioned bench. “I’ve never lost.” 

Simmons gave him a playful look. “Oh ho! Challenge accepted!” In a matter of seconds her face turned deadly serious. “Pour Fitz!” Fitz poured, but realized the bottle was empty. He got up to get another. He came back grinning because the same bartender owed him for some statistical analysis on his anti-grav project. 

And so began the most tactical game of quarters either of them had ever played. Fitz was an engineer after all. He knew how to calculate trajectory better than anyone. But as good as Fitz was, Simmons was better somehow. Or maybe she was a dirty cheat, he couldn’t decide.  Fitz made three shots in a row. Then, Simmons took off her sweater. It was starting to get stifling hot in the Boiler Room. As the sweater went over her head, his thumb slipped and the quarter went careening off the table. 

“AH-HAH!” Simmons shouted as she sat her sweater in the seat. “Not so perfect after all, Mr. Engineer.” She grinned with glassy eyes and messy hair. She leaned out of the booth to retrieve the quarter from the floor. Fitz caught of a glimpse of her back as her shirt rose up a few inches. He loosened the collar on his shirt. She slipped trying to reach for the quarter. Too late to react, he pulled her back up into the booth, quarter in her hand, arm raised triumphantly. She fell backwards into him, laughing.  
  
“Got it!” she said proudly. “My turn!” She may have been a biochemist by education, but she was as precise as any engineer Fitz had ever encountered. That’s why they worked so well together. He knew he was doomed. Even in her now obviously intoxicated state she somehow managed to make an astounding seven shots in a row. He was convinced that she was a dirty rotten cheat. “You’re a buh, bluuh, bloody cheat, Simmons!” he managed to slur as he steadied his hands on the table. She leaned back in the seat, and with as steely a gaze as she could make in her current state, she sized him up. “I’m no' a cheat, I just had a good teacher.” 

“Oh yah? And who would that have been?” He leaned forward on the table, trying to match her serious look. 

“Pierre de Fermat,” she stared him down, the corner of her mouth twitching, she was desperately trying not to laugh. Fitz was not so successful in his attempt. 

“The father of calculus?!?” He laughed. ”Oh c’mon Simmons, you know damn well I was the one who taught you how to play quarters.” 

“Then how’reyou loosing?” she continued to try and keep a straight face. 

“Who said…who said youwerelosing?” Fitz’s eyes felt heavy. 

“Noone said _I_ wasl'sing.” 

“Then we’re in ‘greement.” 

“Oh! Speaking of ‘gre’mnnnt.” Simmons raised her hand like she was in class. “What are we going to call the drones?” 

“Oh! Didn’t I tell you?” Fitz asked, head falling forward. 

“Ovisly not, or I wouldn’t have ak, wouldn’t have sacked…would not have inquired.” Enunciation was difficult. She set up for the next round. She was surprised to find that the second bottle was almost empty. Then she wondered whether it was the third bottle, and wondered how much they had consumed. She tried to calculate her b.a.c. based on her weight but the numbers just swam in her head. She shook her head and looked back to Fitz. Did he feel like she felt? Was he dizzy? Did his face feel numb? His soft, perfect, baby face… 

“Well there’s seven of them. So I thought,” Fitz was surprisingly articulate all of a sudden, as if he had rehearsed it. What if,” he smiled into the air. “we call them D.W.A.R.F.s.” He looked to Simmons who was focused so intensely on his words. 

After a delay, Simmons answered straight faced. “D.W.A.R.F.s…yeah. YEAH.” She paused. “ I don’t  get it, Fitz,” she shook her head slowly. 

Fitz’s shoulders lurched down as he huffed in disappointment. “Like the seven DWARFS! In the faery tale! It fits! Drones Wirelessly Automated to Retrieve Forensics.” He paused looking for a reaction from Simmons. 

“Yes. YES! Oh that’s brilliant, Fitz!” Her eyes widened with recognition finally. Then she snorted and fell over laughing. 

“Whasso funny, Simmons?” Fitz leaned over to pull her back upright. 

“Fitz! You said the name “fits.” _Fitz_ said it _fits_!” and she fell over again. Fitz started laughing.  Dammit if she’s not the most attractive woman I’ve ever met, he thought to himself. “But it _does fit,_ Simmons!” 

“ _Fitzsimmons!”_ she started laughing harder, tears were forming in the corners of her eyes. Fitz rolled his eyes as he helped her sit back up again. 

“Yes, that is our name _. Our names_.” He quickly corrected himself. “No I’m ser'us, we have seven drones, and you’re Snow White!” 

Simmons suddenly stopped laughing. As she caught her breath she had a look of shock on her face.  “Fitz!” 

“What?” 

“You think I’m Snow White?” She raised her eyebrows in surprise, face softening into a smile. She took a drink from her glass, waiting for Fitz to finish his thought. 

“Well…” Fitz suddenly felt quite warm if there was ever a time for honesty this was it. “Well yeah. You’re my Snow White, Jemma. You’re perfect. You’re the smartest, prettiest, most talented girl. NO. _Woman._ Yeah. That I’ve ever met. And you actually talk to me. You don’t think I’m a-“ 

Fitz never got to finish that sentence. Jemma crashed into him with the force of all the Newtons that could theoretically exist. They fell backwards into the booth, Jemma on top of Fitz, hands and hair everywhere. To anyone that walked past the table it looked as if someone had left their drinks and gone home.  Fitz tried to get Simmons’s hair out of his mouth, only so that more of actual Jemma could fit. Fitz slipped, and they both fell to the ground under the table. They laughed into each other’s shoulders. “D’you hit your head, Sim-Jemma?” He reached for the back of her head.

“No. No. Didyouhi’ yours?” she reached for the back of his head. 

“No. I’m fine…” he stared at her lips, scared to look anywhere else. 

“Yeah. You definitely are,” she grinned. She kissed him again. “If I’m Snow White, you are mos’…most _definitely_ my Prince Charming,” she said, coming up for air. 

Fitz kissed her forehead. “C’mon, we’ve played enough quarters. Let’s get out of here.” She reached up into the booth and grabbed her bag and sweater, giggling as Fitz nuzzled his face into the nape of her neck. 

Laughing like children, they crawled out from under the table and ran up the stairs of the Boiler Room. Fitz’s room was closer than Jemma’s so they ran there. He somehow found his keys in his pocket and they entered the room. Fitz suddenly froze. His room was a mess. There were piles laundry all over the floor, the futon, and his bed. “Errrr….Jemma I’m sorry about this! Lemme just…” and he let go of Jemma’s hand and stumbled forward towards the bed to clear off the clothes. By the time he turned around, Jemma had collapsed onto the pile of underwear and socks on the futon. If he weren’t so drunk he’d have been mortified. Instead, he carefully tried to pull the laundry out from under the unconscious girl on the futon. He pulled the blanket from his bed and placed it over her. He fell to the floor, and attempted to take off her shoes. It was a challenge in his current state. After ten minutes, her shoes were finally off. A soft snore came from her mouth. He found his wastebasket and haphazzardly placed it next to her. Then, room still spinning, he crawled towards his bed, collapsing forward onto his face, drool quickly pooling onto his pillow. 

The following morning was Saturday. There were no classes and no deadlines to meet. It was noon before either of them awoke. Simmons stirred first, the sun hitting her face. She groaned and rolled over. Realizing it wasn’t her bed, she panicked and sat upright. She looked under the blanket. She was still fully clothed. “Oh thank goodness." That was a relief. "Wait," she said aloud. She looked around through squinted eyes.  "Oh, I'm just in Fitz's room. Ugh..why the hell is everything so bright…” she scanned further and saw Fitz passed out on his bed, also fully clothed. “Ah.” 

The sun stretched over towards the other side of the room and Fitz rolled over. The sound that Fitz made as he woke up sounded like a tortured animal. Then he sat straight up. “Simmons?” 

She waved her arms over her head. “Over here," she croaked.

“Oh good,” he said, grabbing the pillow to cover his eyes. “I was worried you might have tried to walk home last night. We might have drank too much.” 

“Might have, Fitz.” She said trying to draw the blinds. “How much did we drink?” 

“Uhhhhhhhhh….” He couldn’t see or think straight. “Two bottles? Three?” 

“Did I suggest we play quarters?” 

“I honestly don’t remember, Simmons, please stop yelling!” He threw the pillow at her, immediately regretting it. “I want to say yes. The last thing I remember was you falling out of the booth to grab a quarter.” 

“Right. That would explain this bruise on my forearm,” she said turning her arm to uncover a grape sized bruise. 

“What’s the last thing you remember?” 

“We named the drones?” she tried to recall. “You wanted to call them D.W.A.R.F.s, like the faery tale.” 

“I did?” he asked, hiding his head in one of the shirts he picked up off the floor. It was so bloody bright in America.

“I think so? Honestly Fitz most of last night was a blur.” 

“Well it sounds like something I’d come up with. What do you think?” he mumbled.

“Sure. It’s cute. S.H.I.E.L.D. loves acronyms.” She answered, pulling the blanket back over her head.  “Go back to sleep, Fitz.” 

As she finished her sentence, she heard a snore come from the bed. She rolled back over, her head pounding.  She tried to remember why the back of her head hurt, like she hit it on something. “Ah, oh well, we had a good night,” she thought aloud, and quickly fell back asleep.


End file.
